


Go Seeking Knowledge

by ncfan



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Background Racism/Xenophobia, Bechdel Test Pass, Canon Speculation, Eclipsa the dispenser of well-meaning but lousy advice, Family, Gen, Headcanon, Mother-Daughter Relationship, POV Child, POV Female Character, Speculation, background family problems, implied relationship problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 07:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12859395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: Skywynne, probably the only princess in the history of Mewni who wasn't allowed to go into the magic section of the library without a chaperone, tries in her own particular way to make her sick mother feel better.





	Go Seeking Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

> There hasn’t been any confirmation on who, if anyone, Eclipsa’s older daughter and heir was. I know that a lot of people speculate that, if she was one of the queens we’ve already seen, she might have been Festivia. I’d be okay with that if it turned out to be true; I’d be okay with Solaria turning out to be Eclipsa’s older daughter, as well. But out of all the named queens, I think my favorite candidate for Eclipsa’s older daughter is Skywynne. I know they don’t look a thing alike, and that Festivia or Solaria make more sense when you look at the historical record, but Eclipsa and Skywynne share an inclination towards studying _incredibly_ dangerous magic, which I think might possibly signal a connection between the two of them. Even if it doesn’t, it’s an interesting parallel between Eclipsa and a queen about whom we know very little, especially when the two of them seem to otherwise be foils for each other.

Skywynne suspected that she was probably the only princess in the history of Mewni who wasn’t allowed to go into the magic section of the royal library without a chaperone. Not because anyone was afraid she might tear the books’ pages or get food on them, no. Skywynne wasn’t a _baby_ ; she knew better than to eat while she read, especially when she was reading old, rare books. Old, rare books where the consequences of spilling something on the text could have much more serious consequences than a piece of information simply being lost. (Mother knew a lot of scary stories, and the fact that she was just as likely to tell them as a reward as she was a deterrent meant that Skywynne knew a great deal about what could happen if you got a spell incantation wrong, when working with the more complicated spells.)

No, the reason Skywynne wasn’t allowed into the magic section of the royal library without a chaperone was related to what her mother, when in a good mood, called her “precociousness.” At the urgent request of her father, the royal court, and the members of the Magical High Commission who had had to clean up the mess last time, Skywynne Butterfly could not be trusted with a spell book by herself.

(“Well, Eclipsa,” Glossaryck had said once the dust settled and Aunt Euphrosyne had been persuaded to stop screaming, “at least I won’t have any trouble getting her to read the book.” He dipped his spoon into the pudding cup on the table in front of him and ate a mouthful slowly, surveying the still gently-smoking ruins before him. “But maybe you should consider investing in a, you know, a child lock for the wand.”

Mother stopped looking frazzled long enough to smile. “Oh, I don’t know, Glossaryck. It’s been ages since I last saw Lord Canterbell move like that.”)

It was an _accident_ , Skywynne insisted. She had learned her lesson; she hadn’t tried doing any spells with Mother’s wand since then. Frustrating as it was, it was going to be _years_ before she’d be able to dip down—Mother hadn’t been able to do it until she was fifteen, so six years for Skywynne at least. No one else would have let Skywynne use their wands. Mother had only let Skywynne hold her wand because she didn’t actually think Skywynne could do anything with it. (Which proved only that Mother hadn’t been paying attention; Skywynne had _told_ her that she thought she could do a spell if she tried hard enough.)

Skywynne wasn’t allowed to read spell books by herself. No one had said anything about trying to make up spells herself.

The guards thought nothing of letting Skywynne pass into her mother’s chambers without comment. When she didn’t have access to powerful magical artifacts, Skywynne was a quiet child; doubtless the guards assumed she’d not bother her mother too badly. The moment the doors were pulled shut behind her, Skywynne began to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. Her mother’s salon was empty and wrapped in a silence that did not gladly suffer breaking, not even when its breaking came from footsteps muffled by the velvet rug. The curtains were all drawn shut, gauzy silver gleaming dully as sunlight tried and failed to pierce it completely.

Mother always knew how to say something without actually saying it. Skywynne froze, just as a courtier would have frozen if they saw her mother’s solar in such a state. But the door to her bedchamber had been left ajar. Skywynne clutched her notebook to her chest and edged inside.

Her eyes were drawn first, as they always were, to the royal spell book sitting on its stand by the far windows. It was shut, and the faint sound of snoring suggested that Glossaryck was asleep inside of it. One day it would be hers, but for now it was the spell book Skywynne was least-trusted to read by herself. The dark, heavy window curtains were drawn shut, and the result was not light shade as in the salon, but a deep gloom like winter dusk, veiling the chairs, the vanity, the bedside table and the bed in shadows.

The bed.

Even the bed hangings were drawn shut, and as Skywynne drew closer she heard shallow, slightly labored breathing from inside. With one small hand, Skywynne reached out and clutched the curtain, but just as quickly, she let go and drew away. This was a mistake. Mother wasn’t…

“I told you already.” There was an irritated bite to Mother’s voice that made Skywynne jump, even more than the suddenness of her revealing herself to be awake. “I’m not holding court today; you have the throne room all to yourself. And the court, too, may the stars preserve you.”

Skywynne blinked uncertainly, taking a step backwards. “Mother?”

“Skywynne?” The irritation bled out of Mother’s voice, leaving a bleary bewilderment that left Skywynne on tenterhooks even more than irritation did. “Oh, darling, I’m sorry; I thought you were your father.” She paused, and Skywynne could easily imagine the frown stealing over her face. “Shouldn’t you be with your tutors?”

Silence trickled down between them like rain, as Skywynne clutched her notebook more tightly and frowned. “I have a free day, today,” she murmured. “Remember?”

“Oh,” Mother replied blankly, after a long pause where the only sound was Glossaryck’s snores. “I had… forgotten.” The word sounded bitter, but the croaky chuckle that followed it was merely wry. “Queens don’t get days off, you understand. We only get sick days.”

Skywynne nodded, though she knew her mother couldn’t see her. “You’re not _very_ sick, are you?” she asked anxiously, twisting her lavender skirt in one hand. “Father said you have a migraine…”

“And he didn’t tell you what a migraine _is_ , did he?” she supplied. “It means Mother’s head hurts very much, Skywynne. It’s nothing you can catch.”

With that, Skywynne pushed aside one of the bed hangings and crawled over her mother (she hadn’t realized her mother was lying on the side of the bed closest to her until she’d gotten up on the bed; Skywynne winced as her knee hit something hard) so that she sat beside her on the bed. Mother was lying on top of the duvet, her long black skirt tangled up around her knees. She had taken all of the pillows on the bed (of which there were many; she slept with more pillows on her bed than anyone else Skywynne knew, even her fussy cousin Dione) and piled them on top of her head and shoulders, hiding her face from view. Skywynne lifted one of the pillows slightly, but Mother guided her hand away. “Light isn’t going to help. If you wish to stay, just sit here with me.”

And that Skywynne did, pressing her back against the headboard, running her fingernail down the binding of her notebook, counting the stitches in her head. Briefly, she wondered how her mother would react if she rested her head on one of the pillows, but decided that might be a bad idea. Nobody liked being jostled when they had a headache. Still, what was she supposed to do when she was just stuck sitting in the dark?

“So…” Mother shifted her weight slightly on the bed, one of the pillows falling away so that one of her eyes was visible. Gray and piercing, the only thing Skywynne could look for in her mother’s face and see reflected in her own. “Do you still like to play hide-and-seek with Sunniva?”

“Sunniva went home last week, Mother,” Skywynne told her. “Her parents won’t be coming back to court until winter.”

Another blank “Oh,” came Skywynne’s way. “Well, are you still friends with Claritia and Janine?”

“No,” Skywynne said quickly, tensing. “I’m not talking with them anymore.”

“Why not?”

Skywynne swallowed hard and looked away.

_“I heard the queen’s trying to forge a treaty with the monsters. Can you believe it?”_

_“What, that’s crazy! We can’t do that! The monsters will kill us all if we start acting like we’re their friends!”_

_“The queen’s a_ monster lover _; what do you expect? And that’s not all I’ve heard…”_

“They’re dumb,” she said finally, swallowing down on the bitter lump that had formed in her throat. Mother didn’t need to know what they were saying about her, and especially not when her head was hurting like this. Everyone _knew_ Mother wouldn’t let the monsters hurt them; she was the _Queen_. Anyone who thought otherwise had mush for brains.

“Skywynne, darling…” Mother’s voice, muffled as it was, was gentle, but weary, too. “I understand not wanting to be around someone because they’re…” she gave a soft huff of a laugh “… _dumb_. When I was your age, I thought most of the other children at court were dumb _,_ too. But unfortunately, thinking someone is dumb isn’t a good reason to stop talking to someone.”

“ _Why_?” Skywynne demanded, crushing the duvet in her hand.

Mother’s one visible eye narrowed. “Because those dumb children will grow up to be powerful lords and ladies, and it would go better for you if you didn’t snub them.” She stretched out one gloved hand, and found Skywynne’s wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Trust me, Skywynne. Even if you don’t care for them, it’s better to keep them sweet. Now, what is this _really_ about?”

Not for the first time, Skywynne wondered why she even bothered trying to keep things secret from her mother. Somehow, no one was entirely sure how (though there were plenty of rumors, rumors that flew thick and fast enough that even a child could hear them), Queen Eclipsa always seemed to know things she shouldn’t have. Even if those things were simply intuitions that her child wasn’t being entirely honest with her, she knew just a little too much. “Nothing,” Skywynne mumbled, unable to meet her mother’s piercing eye. “I…” She held her notebook out so her mother could see it; now seemed as good a time as any. “…I made a spell today. Do you want to see it?”

“Oh?” A high, sweet trill lifted up, drawing a smile onto Skywynne’s lips. “Yes, I would. Get the curtains, would you?”

Skywynne hopped out of bed long enough to pull back the bed hangings and, a moment later, the curtains. Mother sat up in bed, two of her pillows falling to the floor. She winced against the sunlight, gritting her teeth and brushing her thick, coarse, and today _very_ disheveled hair out of her pallid face. In spite of how her muscles strained around her jaw and hairline, she smiled when Skywynne’s eyes met hers. “Well…” Mother patted the cover of the notebook. “Aren’t you going to show me what you’ve created?”

Even as Skywynne settled back down on the bed, she began to feel self-conscious. Mother’s spellcasting was amazing—even the Magical High Commission thought it was, and Mother didn’t get along with them at _all_ —and this was just… Skywynne wished she could go back in time and walk away from her mother’s chambers before she ever passed the front door. Well, that wasn’t too far off from what she’d written down today.

“I… Umm…” Skywynne fumbled with her notebook, nearly dropping it before she found the right page. “I made this spell. It’s a spell for when you get sick.” Her face burned to the roots of her hair. “You… You can go back in time and not do whatever made you sick.”

Mother took the notebook out of Skywynne’s hands, studying it intently. Studying the crude graphs and cruder diagrams. The clunky incantation, the instructions for too-basic wand positions. Skywynne had read plenty of spells. Never Mother’s spells; neither her parents nor Glossaryck would let her see them. But Skywynne had still read enough spells, enough advanced spells (before her reading had been restricted to “in the presence of a chaperone”) to know that _her_ spell, if it would even work, wasn’t advanced. She’d tried making up something like that, but when she’d put pen to paper, all memory fled, and she was left to fumble in the dark.

Why had she thought this would be a good idea? There had been some ridiculous thought about her mother appreciating some attempt at spell work from her, seeing as she hadn’t been too angry about the _incident_ last year. It had been Father who was angry (and worried)—Mother had agreed to the restrictions on her reading privileges, but she’d thought the whole thing more amusing than it was worrying. But it _did_ seem ridiculous, now. Her mother had probably been seen better spells in children’s storybooks.

After what felt like an eternity, Mother closed the notebook and smiled down at her. “This is very sweet of you, Skywynne.” Skywynne let out a breath. “Thank you.” Mother tilted her head slightly. “Do you know what they say about time manipulation in magic?”

“’It’s very dangerous, and you shouldn’t meddle with it,’” Skywynne recited without much enthusiasm. “Aunt Asteria told me. Omnitraxus told me, too.” The last time Omnitraxus had come to the castle ( _not_ in relation to the incident that saw Skywynne’s reading privileges restricted; that incident hadn’t required his intervention), Skywynne had peppered him with questions about his work. Omnitraxus had been happy to answer—so happy, in fact, that Skywynne wondered just how often it was that anyone expressed interest in his work.

“And do you believe you shouldn’t ‘meddle’ with it?” Mother prompted.

“Everybody says it’s dangerous.” But even to her own ears, Skywynne’s voice sounded faint, even less enthusiastic than before.

“Skywynne…” There was a conspiratorial gleam in Mother’s eyes; her smile held the slightest suggestion of teeth. “Let me give you a piece of advice. Sometimes, something being considered dangerous is a matter of common sense. The Forest of Certain Death is dangerous because of all that dwells within it, plants and beasts that will kill you if you wander into their jaws. A dragon is dangerous because it will kill you and eat you if it catches you. But sometimes…” Her lips thinned. “…Sometimes, something is considered ‘dangerous’ because of _conventions_. People who prefer ignorance to knowledge label something ‘dangerous’ and shut it away behind rumors and hearsay and “I won’t meddle with it, because everyone _says_ it’s too dangerous to be meddled with.”” She sighed, and muttered, “Think of all the opportunities we’ve lost, just because long ago, someone influential decided it was ‘too dangerous.’”

She was silent, and Skywynne stared uncertainly up at her. After a long moment, Mother began to speak again as if nothing had happened. “My point, Skywynne, is that when someone tells you that something is too dangerous, you should ask yourself why they’re telling you that. Is it just common sense, or is it something else?” She raised a neat, thick eyebrow. “Could it be that they are so fearful of what is not exhaustively understood that they prefer ignorance to knowledge—“ Skywynne thought she saw her mother curl her lip, but a moment later, there sat a neutral smile on her lips “—and deem it too dangerous to be explored, even when there is good that could come from it?”

Not for the first time in her life, Skywynne felt as though she was part of a conversation that was more than one conversation. The conversations that she couldn’t identify were less concerning to her than they normally would have been, today. “So, you think I _should_ study time magic?”

Mother’s smile widened, some of the tension in her face melting away. “If you want to—I wouldn’t tell your father I said so, though; I suspect he’d be upset.” Skywynne was spared having to respond when her mother went on, “The thing about it having been deemed… ‘too dangerous’—“ she waggled her fingers close to Skywynne’s face and laughed slightly “—for anyone to study is that that is both a bad thing for you and a good thing.

“It’s bad because you won’t have anyone else’s spells or research to build off of; the lack of existing data may make conducting research difficult.” Her smile turned a touch wistful, like the sun veiled by translucent cloud. “But it’s good as well—you have a great deal of exploring to do, and you can truly call every discovery you make your own. So if you truly find time manipulation magic fascinating, don’t let anyone frighten you into accepting ignorance with the insistence that it’s too dangerous to ever touch.”

She reached out and squeezed Skywynne’s forearm gently. Not skin on skin. The soft silk of her gloves on Skywynne’s bare arm, as always. Skywynne caught herself wondering if she had ever felt the touch of her mother’s hand on her skin without fabric in the way. She dismissed the thought, unsure of why it had arisen in the first place, and smiled up into her mother’s face. Skywynne wondered when her mother would think her old enough to begin reading from the royal spell book, and what sort of spells she might create, when it was hers.


End file.
